The Skeleton Bridge: A Warning to Newcomers
A local correspondent details the perilous state of the Pill Chuck bridge in Snohomish County, describing it as a 'monument of goshend ativeness' that forces travelers to crawl on all fours across a single stringer.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Snohomish City, Jan. 18, 1877.
Editor North State Star:
As an editor is supposed to know every thing, and of course, is always ready to tell what he knows, I would like to have you tell me when the proper authorities calculate to cover Pill Chuck bridge. The piles were driven and the stringers put up last summer, and there it has stood a monument of the goshend ativeness of the settlers on this river.
We should think that new-comers in this county would be overjoyed at the pleasing prospects of 'good roads and good bridges' here. It must be a great incentive to induce persons to settle here. Starting from town to go up rim by the road one winds round through the fine maple, on some well known cow-trail, until he meets too late the pleasure of learning he is 'off the road,' but for the benefit of the writer he can't tell where he lost it. Finally he strikes Pill Chunn bridge, or rather its skeleton, imitating the beautiful rolling gait of the forefathers of the human race (man throwing he drops down upon all fours and 'goes it.' Oh! isn't it nice, to be elevated above the roaring water about thirty feet, upon a single stringer.
After getting off the writer, and just starting down the stringers tangle of 'deg.' which is tied to the shore, one is prompted by his better nature, to return thanks for his safety, but if he is wise, he will wait until he gets to the hole, for no one so kind has ever gone down that incline, without feeling as if the bowels of the earth were opened by some terrible earthquake, and at least two-thirds of the solid contents of our planet had been thrown up furiously, and had hit him.
No matter how light the load, he loses all of his prayer-like disposition, and his mind wanders off to tropical climes, and he flirts upon everything: worm, with clothing torn and tumbled, but knocked askew, three and hands braced and torn, and about eight inches shorter waisted, he plods along, thinking how pleasant it is to settle so near town. Do something for us Mr. Editor, and you will ever have the kindest wishes of
VICTIM.
This 1877 complaint about infrastructure neglect mirrors modern frustrations with Washington State's transportation funding and bridge maintenance backlogs. Just as 'Victim' felt abandoned by authorities who left a dangerous skeleton in place, today's residents often feel the gap between promised civic improvements and the reality of aging or unsafe public works.
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